


Day 2: Manhandled

by MissTinfoilHat



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Character, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Major Character Injury, Violence, Young Constance, Young Nicolas Brown, Young Theo, Young Worick Archangelo, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26732287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTinfoilHat/pseuds/MissTinfoilHat
Summary: Takes place a short while after Worick and Nic have arrived at Ergastulum. Worick has recently gotten his job at the brothel, and Nic is left alone to fend for himself at night with dangerously low celebrer levels.This was supposed to be the day two prompt "Kidnapped", but I decided that this was a better fit when I couldn't quite get the story to go that way.
Relationships: Worick Arcangelo & Nicolas Brown
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939945
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Day 2: Manhandled

**Author's Note:**

> This is only my second Gangsta. fanfic, so I'm excited to see how it's received. I know it's a rather small fandom, and I've been craving more Nic whump. I plan on making at least one (maybe two) other stories for Gansta. this whumptober, so hopefully, someone is interested!
> 
> .. 
> 
> I don't really know sign language. I do know some Norwegian signs and somewhat the structure of how to use it, but I found it easier to do research on ASL. I might have gotten some things wrong so please don't take offense if I have. I've given it an honest try. To keep the flow of the story, I have only added a few simple signs. Also, Nic is pretty new to being able to properly communicate, since no one ever bothered teaching him. I get the impression that his speech is bad because he only mirrored what he had seen, and pieced together a few words and sentences from vision and reactions until Worick taught him how to sign. He expresses a lot more with his eyes and facial expressions, than words and signs.

Nic huddled under a large piece of cardboard in one of Ergastulum’s back allies. On top of his makeshift hiding spot, he felt the small taps of raindrops hitting the soggy paper. The night air was freezing, nipping mercilessly at his pale skin but it was nothing he hadn’t endured before. The water seeped through the worn leather of his boots which now held several holes and tears, and the soles were barely holding on to the rest of the shoe anymore. Worick had said that he would buy him some new ones when they could afford it, which merely had made Nic cock his head and stare at him incomprehensibly. Worick already spent most of his money on his celebrer. If Nic really needed new shoes that bad, he’d just go and steal some off a dead body somewhere. That’s what he had done before, and there were enough of them laying around here anyway.

He was allowed to stay here in the alley,  _ technically _ , but all the maniacs around here liked to drag twilights out of their sanctuaries and onto the main roads, just to have an excuse to beat the shit out of them. It had happened to Nic several times already, only having stayed around these parts for a few weeks.

Apparently, he was lucky he hadn’t been killed yet. Yesterday, Worick had paused right below an open window that held a small plastic looking thing that Nic had never bothered learning the name for. They had one back with the mercenary troop too. It supposedly played voices and music, which made the object useless to Nicolas, although the thin fabric covering where the sounds came out vibrated pleasantly against his careful hand before it was slapped away by much larger and stronger ones, and the eyes that watched him would be angry.  
  
_ Bad,  _ Nic thought warily, hand to his mouth, moving it down and away.  _ Bad.  _

Worick had explained in a mix of signs and clear, simple words that the box  _ (he had pointed, so its name remained a mystery)  _ had told him that someone had attacked a large group of Twilights hiding in an apartment and killed  _ (Nic remembered that sign very well)  _ all of them, so they needed to be extra careful the next few days. Especially when Worick was at work, which was every night at this point.

The small body under the cardboard shuddered at the thought of the nature of Worick’s job. He wished he could have done something to help raise money so they could get a proper place to stay, and the fat lady at the brothel had been very eager to put him to work too, but Nic couldn’t do  _ that. _

Almost anything but  _ that.  _ And Worick wouldn’t let him anyway.

Even if Worick didn’t really know _ why _ , it seemed like he  _ kinda  _ knew anyway, and as much as Nic didn't think he deserved  _ anything,  _ from new clothes to decent human interaction, he decided to just accept and appreciate that Worick didn’t make him work there too.

So, he kept sitting, nestled up inside a large denim jacket in the back ally, and waited for the morning and Woricks return. 

* * *

Nic was unsure of what startled him awake. Actually, he was unaware that he had been sleeping at all. He opened bleary, onyx eyes and rubbed at them sleepily.   
  
A pair of brown loafers stood in front of him, and for a moment, he felt his heartbeat pick up its pace and his breath getting caught in his chest. A tiny gasp left his lungs, excited, and relieved that Worick had come back early and that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Then, his sodden paper roof was torn out of his hands. Timidly, he peered up into the crazed gaze of an unfamiliar man, sporting an awful, vicious grin.

Within seconds, Nic was on his feet. He couldn’t  _ attack;  _ the three laws kept repeating in his head and he refused to break them. At least not for his own benefits  _ (he’d do it for Worick but Worick wasn’t even  _ **_there_ ** _ ).  _ But one thing he could do, was to run.

Quickly, he ducked sideways into the ally, barely avoiding the grasping arms coming towards him, ready to drag him into the street and do  _ who-knows-what  _ to him _.  _ Nic stumbled in his flapping shoe-soles, nearly stumbling but was able to catch himself before his knees and palms hit the ground. He grunted lowly as he felt his head swim, feet lagging. His body reminded him in the worst possible moment that they had been out of celebrer the day before, and that Worick had promised to pick some up on his way back from work. 

Unfortunately, his numb legs turned out to be the least of his problems. Without the privilege of sound, he turned his head to make sure he kept a safe distance between him and his pursuer and immediately collided into something hard and heavy. He bounced back a couple of steps.  A different pair of ominous eyes glared down at him and he counted at least three other thugs. Nic swerved around, hoping he hadn't overlooked anyone else at the other end of the backstreet and kept running. His hair was nearly caught in the midst of the motion; he felt the tips of the overgrown hair at his nape being tugged out as he forced his legs to add traction to the ground and hurled himself forward.

The lack of his cursed medication made him slower than usual. His body felt sluggish and out-of-shape, even if he made sure to work out daily as long as they had the celebrer to fuel his body. When they didn't, he was unable to do the simplest of tasks. He had to preserve his energy to simply stay conscious. Unfortunately, these last couple of weeks there had apparently, according to Worick, been some sort of national holiday, and a lot of his regular clients had been away. This made work slow, resulting in a lot less money for the two teens. His medication had to be cut to the absolute bare minimum.

_ He truly felt it now. _

His knees buckled and groaned painfully before he hit the ground. The stoned path welcomed him mercilessly as his forehead connected with the stone floors, nearly knocking him out. There was no time to recover from the fall, no time to brace himself. Moments later, someone kicked him in the side and he spun around, tumbling into the street.    
  
His body felt heavy, sluggish, couldn’t move. A dull ache drummed where the boot had connected with his ribs. Raindrops trickled into his eyes from the sky as he peered up at five men, looking down at him with no form of amusement shown on the faces. 

One of them leaned over him, grabbing underneath his arms while another picked up his legs. They hoised him up between them and began carrying him out towards the open road. With the last energy left in his fatigued body, Nicolas kicked and tried to jerk out of their clutches, but the celebrer withdrawal left him too weak.   
  
_ It didn’t matter that it wasn’t the first time it occurred. The understanding that anything could happen now: whatever these fuckers wanted to do to him, they could and there was nothing Nic could do about it. It was just like before. There was no freedom for a tag. You could be as strong as you wanted but, the moment you went through withdrawal, you were helpless. At the mercy of man.  _

_ And man was anything but merciful.  _

Soon, Nic’s body was violently tossed through the air, and he landed harshly in a puddle on the hard asphalt in the middle of the main street. 

With the bit of strength he had left, Nicolas managed to get onto his hands and knees. The men spread, encircling him while pointing and waving. They seemed to be alerting the people nearby. Nic was able to piece together most of what they were saying _(people tended to exaggerate their words when they were shouting, making it easier for him to read, even at a distance).  
  
_ _ “Look! There’s a tag in the middle of the street. Let’s get him,”  _ Nic made out, and a heavy lump dropped and rattled his insides. 

“N-no!” Nic tried to plead as people gathered around, jeering and looking enraged  _ (yet, some still smiled which bode much worse than those who were angry) _ . No one seemed to care. “M’so-sowry,” he annunciated as clearly as he could, exaggerating his R to the best of his abilities, and tried to crawl his way back to the dark sideway he had been forced out of, but another kick to the side flipped him over, leaving him heaving breathlessly on his back. 

A storm of fists and boots pounded at his weak form, hitting him wherever they could land a punch. He knew his ribs were already severely bruised, maybe even cracked. Someone stepped on his hand, his fingers crunching under the weight. He was kicked several times in the face before he managed to turn to his side to protect his vitals. The angry mob kept showering him with their hate and xenophobia.    
  
His hair was pulled, prying his bloodied face off the ground, landing a sharp blow to his nose. The blood flooded down his throat, and he choked on the phlegm, splurting out bloodied coughs. His celebrer levels were severely low, and Nic knew he was about to seizure. At least then, he wouldn’t feel anything anymore.    
  
Black spots flickered before his eyes, taking up more and more of his vision. His body temperature increased with big drops of sweat trailing down his face. His breath hitched, something connected sharply with his stomach and he wondered if someone might have stabbed him. 

Whatever caused the pain, would have to wait. It didn’t really matter anymore. If he let go now, he probably wouldn’t wake up again. Worick would maybe be sad, but, it was probably better this way. It would be much easier for Worick to save up money for an apartment if he didn’t have to buy Nic’s medication. Also, he wouldn’t need to worry as much.   
  
Nicolas willfully let himself drift off into blissful unawareness. 

* * *

Worick Arcangelo hurried down the avenue, umbrella resting on his shoulder and two orange pill bottles rattling in his pocket. Nic had been without celebrer for too long this time, and Worick could only hope that he was still conscious when he got back. Luckily, his client had been generous tonight  _ (because Worick had been quite generous too),  _ so he had been able to purchase an emergency vial as well. It had cost him an arm and a leg and prayed they wouldn’t need it yet, but it was good to have around for emergencies.  
  
The teen rounded the corner to the ally Nic preferred to wait for him at, huddled between two containers with a makeshift roof of cardboard. It stunk and was quite loud as it was surrounded by large sets of fans letting out steam from the several fast-food places around. But, the steam added some heat, and the noise obviously didn’t bother Nic. Worick’s stomach growled angrily from the odor. 

“G’ morning,” Worick announced brightly out of habit, before he peeked between the two black dumpsters.    
  
No Nic. 

Worick frowned, his heart skipping a beat. Dread seeped down his back along with the water of a clogged drainpipe above him.    
  
_ No. Not now. Not Nic.  _

Despite himself, he called out his Deaf friend’s name and kept searching frantically. He looked behind, under, and inside the dumpsters, moved on and repeated in the alleys on each side of the one they stayed at. He asked a few people walking by, even on the main road, describing his friend without mentioning the fact that he was a twilight. No one had seen him, but someone  _ had  _ to know something.  But he already knew that no one would say anything. Of course, they wouldn’t. Whoever would, were probably in on it. He had heard the reports about abducted tags on the radios around town every day. In other words, Nic could be anywhere. Anywhere, injured, in withdrawal, or maybe even dead. 

Worick had  _ failed him.  _ Nicolas protected Worick, but Worick hadn’t protected Nic when he was on his most vulnerable. 

Picking up his pace, the teen ran back towards the pathway he had left Nic at the night before. He should ask the businesses around, someone working there would have to have seen or at least heard some shuffling. 

Some of the fancier restaurants hadn’t opened yet, while others claimed that they didn’t know anything. Worick was unsure if he believed most of them. After witnessing how the outside world treated Nic, while also having reflected a great deal about his own prejudice against tags before he got to know one, he didn’t doubt a second that these people were full of shit. 

Out of breath and in dire need of a smoke, Worick leaned heavily on a brick wall, pulling a cigarette out of the package with his teeth, and scavenged his pockets for a light.  First, the pocket of his jacket where he used to carry his lighter. When that didn’t award him with anything, he tried the inner pocket. Still nothing. His hands brushed desperately over his pants without any luck.

_ Fuck.  _ He must have left it at his client. 

Scowling, he peered through his surroundings. There seemed to be a small kiosk at the other end of the street, and Worick immediately dashed towards it.  The old lady behind the counter stared sourly at him as he approached. 

“I’ll have a lighter,” he demanded and slammed a bill onto the desk, fingers twitching from slight nicotine withdrawal. The old woman squinted at the money with crossed arms, before she shifted her attention back at Worick. 

“It won’t kill you to be polite, brat,” she sneered angrily, snapping up the paper and tossing it sloppily into her register before throwing the lighter at him.

“Whatever, old hag.” Worick rolled his eye and caught the lighter, wasting no time with firing up his smoke. He inhaled deeply before asking, “where’s my change?” 

“Bad-mannered brats don’t get change. They have to pay an asshole fee,” she bit back. Worick seethed. 

“You know what, you old bat? You can take that change and stick it up your dusty-ass vag---” 

“Grandma,” an exasperated voice interfered before he could finish. “Give him his money!” 

A young girl with short, unkempt mousy hair suddenly stood up behind the counter beside the old woman. She walked calmly over to the register and pulled out a few coins, counting them before handing them over to Worick. 

“Thanks,” he sulked bitingly and dropped them into his pocket. 

“Don’t mind her. I guess it’s hard to understand what she’s going through unless you have to service all the crazies in Ergastulum every day too.” 

“Well,” Worick drawled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head. 

“My name is Constance. This is my Grandma, Joel,” the girl smiled. “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you here before.” 

Worick shuffled restlessly. “Name’s Worick. My friend and I just got here a few weeks ago.” He paused for a moment. “Uh, but I can’t find him right now. That’s what got me a little on edge. Sorry ‘bout that. You haven’t seen him by any chance, have ya? He’s my age, Asian. Black hair. A short kid-” Worick measured with his hand, settling to a little under his eye. Hesitating a moment, he continued. 

“He’s a tag, so I’m really scared something bad might ‘ave happened to ‘im.” 

Something in Joel’s eyes changed, and Constance gazed worriedly at her. “Granny, what is it?” she whispered.    
  
“He was attacked by the mob,” the older woman muttered gravely. “Dragged out from over there.” She pointed towards where Worick had come from. “Wasn’t pretty at all, and he looked so young. People crowded to get in a hit. These people are no good, bloodthirsty---” she scoffed before finishing the thought. “And they say that the tags are the monsters.” 

Worick slammed his hands onto the counter, cigarette falling from his lips. “What did they do to him? Did they kill him? Take him away anywhere? Tell me what you saw!” he demanded, clear azure eye wide and watching her intently. 

“He was lucky, this time,” Joel countered. “Chad was on patrol today. He’s a cop. A grumpy old geezer, but one of the good ones. He broke up the horde and took the child with him. Probably brought him over to Piper’s clinic. She’s the only doctor around who will treat tags.”

“Where’s that?” Worick urged, leaning over the desk. “Please tell me, he needs me! He’s deaf, he’s no good at communicating with people he doesn’t know!” 

Joel sighed, letting her shoulders sag. “Conny dear, maybe you could show him?” The girl perched up, happy to be of help. She jumped over the counter and grabbed Worick’s hand, leaping forward and tugging him along.

“It isn’t far,” she assured Worick as he struggled to keep up with her pace. “She’s really good at her job. A little scary at first, but that just means all those bullies don’t mess with her!”    
  
They passed the back street Nic usually slept in, went into the next one over, and piloted through a labyrinth of crisscrossing paths that threw Worick’s sense of direction completely off. After two minutes of running through several streets that all looked the same, they slowed down in front of a white, brick building.

There were no signs that indicated that this was a medical clinic, except for a small placard with a black cross above the door. It seemed as if its owner had intentionally done everything to make it not stand out. Constance approached the wooden door and knocked rhythmically. 

“Try to remember that beat,” she smiled and turned to look at Worick. “It signals that you are a friend.” Before Worick could respond, the door opened. A brown-haired boy, not much older than Constance, answered. His eyebrows raised as a sharp glare behind blue-rimmed glasses locked with the young girl, but they immediately curbed into a frown when he noticed Worick. 

“Who’s that?” he grumbled warily, securing the door behind his small body. 

“Oh,” Constance exclaimed, turning back to the blonde teen. “This is, uh---”

“Worick,” Worick offered. 

“Worick!” Constance confirmed. “He’s friends with the boy that detective Chad brought in!” 

The brown-haired boy assessed Worick, measuring him from head to toe. “You a tag?” 

Worick shook his head. “No, I- I am actually Nic’s, uh, the tag in there’s contract holder.” 

Even Constance looked surprised by that, because how in the world did a teenage boy end up as a contract holder? A homeless one at that. 

“Ah, so you’re his owner,” the kid muttered distastefully, and Worick knew he was being judged. 

“No, just a contract holder. Nic is my friend.” The two boys stared venomously at each other for a short while, until Constance shoved at the small boy. 

“Knock it off, Theo! He’s worried about his friend. Can you please just let us in? It’s rainin’ and we’re getting wet!” 

The talk of the weather made Worick realized that somewhere in his frenzied search, he had misplaced his umbrella. His overgrown hair was sticking uncomfortably to his forehead and stubbled cheeks, and his coat draped heavily on his shoulders, dripping into the puddle he stood in. 

The boy apparently named Theo shrugged, crossed his arms, and leaned lazily in the doorway. “I have to ask my ma, but she’s still working on ‘im, so---”

“Goddammit, Theo!” Constance wailed and punched the kid in the arm, hurling the door open and marched inside. “C’mon Worick,” she growled, shooting a venomous glare towards the wounded kid (mostly ego, Worick guessed), as he stood, rubbing the sore spot on his arm. 

“Conny, you know that’s where I got my BCG vaccine,” he sulked but made no move of stopping Worick as he entered the small clinic. 

“Yes, I do!” the young girl sneered back, making Theo shrink visibly. Worick trotted into the narrow hallway. A closed door was at his left and an open at his right. The right one seemed to hold a small lab, and Worick guessed that the other was the treatment area. In front of them was a staircase, which appeared to lead into a more homie floor. Probably an apartment. 

“Where is he?” He tried to sound authoritative, kinda mimicking his father, which only made him dislike himself. But he had witnessed how effective that kind of tone was, and as much as he hated it, he knew he resembled him. He bore his single eye into the ruffled child, squinting, hoping he looked somewhat dangerous.

“I already told you,” Theo retorted easily with an eye roll. “Mom is still working on him. He was badly hurt. Chad was scared to even carry him inside from his car.” 

Worick refused to avert his gaze. Panic struck, worry, terrified about what that might mean. Theo too was unyielding. He kept Worick’s gaze perfectly leveled, without showing any fear of the older boy. Even so, he was the first to give in. 

Theo scoffed, pocketing his hands in a loose-fitting pair of cargo pants and tread casually towards the locked door, giving it three rapid knocks and entering. Worick shuffled closer but paused, fighting an internal battle if he should wait or barge in, demanding an update. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. 

The door clicked open and Theo returned, closely followed by a tall, slender woman, wearing a long white doctor’s frock drenched in blood. A tight knot solidified in Worick’s abdomen, and he clutched his fists shut, fingernails digging into his palms to keep calm. 

The doctor, Piper he assumed, turned her attention towards him, pushing her glasses further up on her nose as she moved closer with long, elegant strides. Her whole presence oozed authority, and the teenager couldn’t help but cower under her sharp, hazel gaze. 

She stopped before him, thin lips in a tight line. “Worick?” she asked assessingly.

“Y-yes ma’am,” Worick stuttered, suddenly feeling the strange urge to bow in front of the intimidating presence. The woman took another step forward before abruptly cupping his chin, forcing him to face her. 

“Well, aren’t you a handsome gentleman,” she grinned brightly, squeezing his cheeks. The blonde blinked repeatedly. “Theodore told me you were worried about your friend.” She stood up, nearly a head taller than Worick’s respectable 5’7. Casting a quick glance at the small gap into the clinic, she continued, “I just got done patching him up, but he’s still unconcious. Those bastards really did a number on him, and his celebrer levels were dangerously low. Even without the beating, he was on the verge of slipping into a coma.” 

Worick shrinked with guilt. He had no idea Nic was that bad, and when he asked how he was doing before leaving for work, Nic had only brushed him off. The doctor noticed Worick’s shame and rested a large, slender hand on his shoulder. 

“I gave him the emergency shot of uppers and balanced it with downers, but he’s reacting quite strongly to those, which could be useful to keep in mind later. But he’s stable now.”

Worick worried his lip, unable to look her in the eye as he talked. “I- I don't know much about those. I don’t think Nic does either. They only gave him the bare minimum before, I guess, just enough to survive. So, I buy whatever those guys down at the dock sell me, and he takes what he needs but, we ran out.”

“Well,” she hummed solemnly. “We make our own special celebrer here at the clinic, a big hush, obviously. We also sell it for cheaper than those greedy Cristiano fucks, if you want in.”

Worick nodded carefully. “That’s probably a good idea.”    
  
A warm smile embellished her thin lips as she opened the door to let Worick inside. Constance and Theo lingered behind them in the doorway, peeking curiously at the sleeping form on the bed. A sharp inhale escaped Worick despite himself, and he hurried forward to see his sleeping friend, buried in a cocoon of thick blankets.

“As I told you, he’s going to be out of it for a while,” Piper explained calmly. 

“His injuries aren’t too severe, all though it might look a little scary. He has a head wound that required stitches, as well as some cuts on his face and body. It looked like someone used a knife, and one of the stabs in his side were pretty deep but didn’t hit anything vital. I had to set his nose. It might heal a bit crooked, but it looked like it had been broken at least a few times before, so who knows? Maybe it’ll heal a little straighter,” she chuckled humorlessly. 

“There’s also two broken ribs and his left wrist, and three broken fingers. His knees and ankles are badly bruised, so he won’t be up and walking for a while. I administered an IV to get some fluids in him, he was quite dehydrated. I won’t give him any strong painkillers these first few days because of his concussion, so he might be in pain, but you can both stay here until he recovers.”   
  
Unable to take his eyes off Nic’s bandaged head and bruised eyes, Worick nodded absently. “Thank you, but, we don’t have any money to pay for this right now. But if you can give me a couple of weeks---” 

The doctor hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, I could use a few favors.”

Worick snapped his attention back at her, with a hopeful shimmer in his eye. “Anything! Anything as long as Nic will be okay!” 

She smiled, casually strolling over to a workstation at the other end of the room where she picked up a few packages. “Our celebrer has been selling a lot more recently, and at this point, it’s getting too much for me and Theo to deliver on our own. We could use some handymen around here. If it works out when you’ve paid off your depth, maybe we can continue this partnership. Having a high ranking twilight on our side certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

* * *

Worick stayed the night by Nic’s bedside. Dr. Piper had brought him a comfortable chair from upstairs, and Constance had brought him a strange-looking stew she apparently had made by her self. Despite its ominous appearance, it had smelled and tasted pretty good. He was supposed to be at work now, but had called in and explained the situation to Big Mama Georgiana. Luckily, she had a soft spot for Nic, so she had given him a few nights off. 

Nic was sleeping peacefully, hands propped above the covers. His left hand was in a hard cast and fingers splintered, while the IV tubes ran from his right wrist. A sly smile curved Worick’s lips upwards, imagining how frustrated Nic would be when he realized that he couldn’t sign properly for a while. He absolutely hated talking out loud, speech pretty garbled and broken. Worick quite liked his voice. At first, it infuriated him, but as he got to know Nic, it was nice to experience him communicating, instead of just staring at him emptily, with those tired, lost, and utterly given-up eyes. 

He was Worick’s first and only friend, and that unclear and sometimes downright strange voice was just… Nic. It was how Nic was supposed to be, and nothing else seemed right. 

A thick, hoarse groan filled the deafening silence in the room, and Worick perched up.   
  
Swollen eyes blinked lazily, black pinpoint orbs slowly scanning the room. Worick waved his hand in front of Nic’s face to get his attention. 

“Hey,” Worick said, waving his hand. Nic’s broken hand twitched and the teen frowned, picking up the fractured limb, assessing it distastefully. A low growl left his throat. 

Worick placed one hand over the other on his chest, gesturing them forwards while saying out loud, “Use your words.” Nic reached his tongue out, making Worick snicker. 

“Whatever,” he laughed, making “L” shapes with both hands, bringing them together by the thumb and danced them back and forth a few times. He knew Nic could read his lips, but he felt like boasting his ability to use both hands for a little bit. Nic replied accordingly with a certain sign that only acquired one hand and a working middle finger. 

Tryingly, Nic opened his mouth, closed it again, and seemed to think for a moment, probably going through the words he wanted to say in his head. “L-leave… now?” he finally croaked. 

Worick shook his head. “No, stay,” he said, pointing his finger downwards onto the bed. Nic arched his eyebrows, shaking his head no. 

“Yes. It’s taken care of,” Worick explained, signing while speaking. “We can stay until you are okay.” 

“Am o-kay,” Nic argued. “No m-money. F-food n meds. House. Save them.” 

“I promise Nic, it’s okay! And when you’re all better, you can help make more!” Worick pinched his fingers and slapped his palm. _Money_. The fright in Nic’s eyes was clear as day, so Worick hurried to clarify.    
  
“Not with Big Mama. I got us jobs! Paying jobs, right here. We’ll help with deliveries. It’s actual, honest work!” 

Nic peered curiously on Worick’s hands, signing the word “job?” with his right hand while looking at him questioningly. 

“Yes!” Worick confirmed eagerly. “Both of us! At this clinic. It probably doesn't pay as well as my other job, but we’ll make money a lot faster.”

A small nod was all Nic managed before a deep, exhausted yawn absorbed the injured teen. His blackened eyelids seemed to slowly droop close, unable to stay awake any longer. 

Worick crossed his hands over his chest, and before he could mouth the word “rest”, Nic’s breaths were already elongating. Small squeaky snores drew in and out of his broken nose, and Worick leaned back in his chair.   
  
“It seems like things are finally looking up for us huh, buddy.”

Satisfied and calm, Worick leaned back in his seat and let himself drift off too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudo and a comment if you liked it! It keeps us writers going 😊


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